


Calogan slow burn drabble

by Marvelous_mutie



Category: Logan xmen
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Marvel Universe, Mutants, Pining, Tenderness, X-Men References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelous_mutie/pseuds/Marvelous_mutie





	Calogan slow burn drabble

Logan comes home after being on the road for nearly 3 weeks. His limo has served as a mobile hotel, and the crick in his back longs for the comfort of his run down mattress. His clothes smell of sweat and whiskey. A desperate splash of cheap cologne clung to his skin. 

The smelting plant is a welcome sight, even in its decrepit state. A lonely, empty shell of concrete and rusted metal. But home is where you lay your head, right? And home he is. 

There's a familiar clanking and shuffling from within. Logan pauses before opening the door to listen. Two voices; both grumbling. 

God, the bickering. He shook his head. Constant bickering. Logan braces himself for yet another lecture as he shoulders the heavy door open. 

Two bald men are within view from the entryway. One is seated, facing away from the door, the other is waving a large white hand in dismissal as he shuffles away. 

"We aren't going to be eating like kings, you do realize this? Charles... You need your strength, so please-" Bright blue eyes meet Logan's own brown ones. "It's about time, you know. Would've been nice to have had help earlier." 

"Logan! Oh thank goodness." Here it goes. Another dramatization from a failing mind, no doubt. "He's trying to poison me!" 

Before the first man could protest, Logan raises a rough, scar riddled hand and shook his head. Not right now. He's tired. Exhausted, actually.

Logan's sore, aging body lands itself onto a wooden bench at the table. He rests an elbow on top of the cluttered surface and rubs his forehead. The room falls silent, and Logan is grateful for it. 

A plate slides it's way over slowly in front of him. The scent of a mysterious canned meat and imitation mashed potatoes infiltrates his nostrils. He sighs. 

"It's not as bad as it looks. Well, not nearly as bad as what Charles is making it out to be anyway." 

The tall mutant's tone is apologetic. Charles huffs indignantly in his corner of the room, a scowl across his wrinkle adorned face. Logan glances at each of his companions. They both look just as worn out as he feels. 

"It's fine." He stabs at the oddly gray meat-like substance with his fork. "Food's food. Chuck, you need to eat. C'mon." 

Caliban was correct; compared to the sight and smell, the taste of the meat is the least offensive to Logan's senses. He gives a nod of approval and inhales his meal in attempt to quell the hunger pains ripping through his stomach. The other two men follow suit. 

Save for the sounds of utensils clinking  against plates, chewing, and the occasional clearing of the throat, the three men eat their meals in peace. It's a godsend. No bickering, no lectures. Just peace and quiet. 

Charles doesn't fight being sent off to bed. Perhaps he's happy to go, for once, or perhaps he is just far too tired to put up a struggle. It doesn't matter which it is to Logan. The old man needs his rest. His brain is far too fragile to run on empty. Too fragile, and too dangerous. 

Upon his return to their living space, the clinking of dishes and the smell of citrus greets Logan. A soft humming can be heard if he strains his ears to listen. Caliban hums often when he's busying himself with chores, and to Logan, it's not an unpleasant sound. He smiles. 

"So, uh," Logan interrupts softly, "I was thinking, I kinda need a haircut." 

The clinking and humming comes to a halt. Caliban pulls his hands from the suds and dries them on his trousers. His expression is questioning and tired. Logan holds up a hand and waves it in dismissal. 

"I mean it can wait." He looks away from those sharp, ever watching blue eyes. "Till morning." 

"You've not showered yet," Caliban sighs,  "best do it now so you can get cleaned up properly after." 

He wanders over to a container of kitchen utensils. Spatula, no. Ladle, no. Can opener- scissors! He gives them a few test snips, cutting the air in front of him with a satisfying clack as the blades close. 

"Right, have a seat then." 

Logan obeys and take a seat at the table. Caliban's hand gently guides Logan's head to tilt forward. He closes his eyes and allows his body to relax as long fingers snake their way through his shaggy, peppered hair. 

The swishing of scissor blades and Caliban's soft, breathy humming fill Logan's ears. He takes a deep breath and enjoys the tingling in his scalp. Upon opening his eyes, his vision is met with a small rainfall of clippings drifting lazily to the cement floor. 

"Good to be home." Conversation has never been one of Logan's strong points. He tries, however, every so often. 

Caliban lives for these rare instances when Logan attempts small talk. It's a welcomed contrast to the usual deafening silence, or the ever increasing squabbles with Charles. The corners of his pale lips are drawn up into a slight smile. 

"Good to have you back," he nods. "We'd begun to worry. Well, I did at least. Charles...he," his voice lowers, "he can't remember, most of the time, who's who, let alone your comings and goings. I'm afraid-” 

"I, uh," Logan is quick to interrupt, as usual, when it comes to any mention of Charles' condition, "I'm gonna make a run tomorrow. Get some supplies. Food and what not." 

Caliban's fingers have ceased to dive into the waves of Logan's thick, dark hair. The scissors remain still. He understands that Logan's shift in subjects is meant to silence his concerns. He swallows his courage and nods. He doesn't want to provoke. Not tonight. 

He resumes the task at hand, eyeing hair length between long, slender, white fingers and snips off their ends when they don't measure up to his satisfaction. Tomorrow. He'll try to bring it up again tomorrow. Logan was trying to be pleasant, best to not change that now. 

"Just get together a list. Stuff we need." Logan shifts in his seat. His neck aches horribly. "Or if there's anything you might want."

Sensing his discomfort, Caliban sits down behind him, suddenly aware of the aching in his own long line of vertebrae. He settles his ridiculously long legs on either side of the man in front of him and lifts Logan's chin so that he's no longer craning his neck. 

"I'll go through and take note of what we need in the morning." Caliban begins to hum again.

Goosebumps raise along the back of the older mutant's neck. Caliban's breath tickles being this close. Its almost titillating. He shudders from the sensation. 

"Cold? Been getting a bit chilly at night out here. I can put on some water to boil for washing. Warm you up a bit"

"Nah. I'm good" 

Logan smirks. That was just like Caliban; ever the worrying kind. Caring. Logan liked that about him. He could never have made a life for himself and Charles without Caliban. 

So caring. Its an attribute that Logan struggles with often, but here, this tall, treelike man gave it freely. He was not without his faults, of course. Caliban had plenty of skeletons in his closet. But don't we all?

"Thanks though." 

Caliban nods, "Let me know if you change your mind then. Almost finished here. Not my best work, but it'll do." 

He blows the excess hair from Logan's collar. A few more clips here and there and he feels satisfied with his work. He gets up and walks around in front of Logan to get a good look. 

A wide grin tells Logan that he's free to move his sore muscles at last. He rises up from his seat. God. How did he get so old so fast? Every muscle and joint cries out. 

"Maybe some hot water isn't a bad idea." He chuckles and strokes his freshly shorn hairk, nocking loose clippings onto his face. 

Caliban nods and absentmindedly brushes the fallen hair from Logan's cheek. It starts as a brisk brushing, but slows into a caress. His soft fingertips linger over the weathered skin, gently kissing a scar with their silky touch. 

It catches them both by surprise. Before Caliban can pull his hand away, Logan places his own over it, pinning it down against his face. Their eyes lock and neither can seem to look away. 

Embarrassment and shock can make a mere moment last an eternity as many of us know. In this eternity, each mutant feels his heart stop, then pound relentlessly in their own ears. If Caliban wasn't already completely devoid of pigment, his face might have flushed a sickly gray before blushing. 

Logan doesn't release his grip, and Caliban doesn't pull away. Discomfort gives way to something else. A new sensation. Something Logan has felt before; something Caliban has only dreamed of.  

"Cal," His voice is hoarse. 

"I... I'll get that water going." 

Caliban pulls his hand free and hurries past his shorter companion. A rush of water into a pot almost drowns out the sound of the whimper that Caliban is trying with all of his might to not let escape. Any other person might not have heard it, but Logan's ears are sharp. 

"Caliban." His voice is demanding. Harsh. A little too harsh. "What... What was-" 

"A haircut. It was just a haircut." He cut Logan off promptly. 

Annoyance? No. Fear disguised as annoyance. He's afraid. Embarrassed. Confused. Logan feels it too, all of it. He's left standing in a daze. 

He decides to not probe the subject further, and readies himself for a quick clean up before bed. Logan takes his time. His heart is still racing. Not as fiercely, but racing all the same. 

When he returns to the kitchen, a pot of water is warming. A bottle of cold water and ibuprofen are sitting on the table, waiting. Caliban is not in sight. 

Logan tosses the pills back with a swig of the icy water. Oh how he wished it was booze. He grabs the pot and turns to walk back to their bathing area. As he passes a pane of shattered, blacked out windows, he can hear heavy breathing. 

He pauses, listening closely. Broken, raspy, almost hyperventilating breaths. Caliban is close to breaking down just on the other side of this wall. Logan grits his teeth, deciding to ignore it. 

Or at least he was going to ignore it. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted so badly to choke down all emotion and dismiss it all. He tried, but failed. 

He failed because in the next instance, before walking away as he intended, he heard Caliban speak. His voice is strained and shaking. It wasn't just the words he spoke, but what lie behind them. 

Logan wanted to ignore it, but how could he?

"It... It was just... just a hair cut... Nothing more. It will never be anything more."


End file.
